Invaders From Mars (19 page)

The puttering of two helicopters descending outside was muffled by the heavy footfalls of the men as they hurried down the dark hall with Curtis and Dr. Weinstein in the lead.

His pistol drawn, Curtis shined his high-powered flashlight on every door they passed.

“The boy said it was in the basement,” Weinstein said.

“I know that,” Curtis snapped. He resented the doctor’s presence, certain he would only get in the way. His light passed over the red and white sign. “This is it,” he said, pushing the door open.

At the foot of the first staircase, Curtis slid the metal door aside and the troops thundered down the metal stairs into the basement, coming to a sudden halt halfway down.

The furnaces were mangled around the edges. The staircase hung unsteadily from its supports. Chunks of concrete were scattered over what was left of the floor. In the center of it all was a hole, perhaps twelve feet in circumference, from which an orange glow illuminated the dark basement.

From the landing, Curtis could tell that the hole was very deep, and whatever had made it had been big. Shaking his head with slowly growing disbelief, he muttered, “Jesus H. Christ.”

Troops swarmed around David’s house. They charged up the walk ahead of him, nearly knocking him over. When they found the door to be locked, they broke it down.

David watched with alarm as they plowed into the house. He stopped on the path and watched as more of them stormed through the broken front door. Through the darkened windows, he could see the darting beams of their flashlights.

Didn’t they realize that someone
lived
there? Couldn’t they be a little more careful?

A helicopter hovered over the house, its spotlight shining like a bar of daylight over the house and yard.

David hurried into the house, ignoring Linda’s call.

“David! David, wait!”

Inside, the men were rushing up the stairs, going through the rooms and closets one by one.

“Hey!” David shouted when a blue vase of silk flowers was knocked to the floor. The vase shattered and the pieces crunched under stomping feet.

David raced up the stairs to his room, trying light switches along the way. The power was out. From the open doorway of his bedroom, David watched as the troops walked over his toys. Godzilla’s head was crushed, the cardboard Tokyo was flattened, a plastic robot was shattered, comic books and magazines were torn underfoot.

“This is my
room!”
David cried.

He was ignored. The men opened his closet and looked under the bed.

“David,” Linda said behind him. “Let’s go outside. We might be in the way here.”

“But . . . my
things
. . .”

He let her lead him down the hall, down the stairs.

They don’t care,
he thought.
The house doesn’t matter to them. They just want to find the martians.

They went out the back door and stood in the yard. Lights were shining beyond Copper Hill; voices called and the hulking assault vehicles rumbled. Linda took David’s hand and started up the path.

Tension ached in David’s neck and shoulders and his eyes stung with tears. This wasn’t what he’d wanted when he turned to General Wilson for help. True, the martians had to be stopped. But most important of all to David were his parents—he wanted them back. They were somewhere within the bowels of the ship, most likely. And if they weren’t, David knew that was where he could break the link that held them to the martians.

At the crest of the hill, they saw winches being set up. Vehicles were surrounding the pit. Bright floodlights washed over the sand making it gleam a pure white.

Linda gasped when the squad leader, a short, bullet-shaped man, charged past them and went over the hill toward the general. They followed him, picking up their pace.

“General,” the squad leader said, “the house is all clean, sir.”

“Fine, thanks,” General Wilson said. He was frowning, preoccupied. He’d been talking to a tall black lieutenant when the squad leader approached.

David stepped forward to get the general’s attention. “General Wilson.”

Distracted, the general glanced down at him. “Yes, David?”

“General, what about my
parents?
Are we going to find them?”

“Well, David—”

“General,” the lieutenant interrupted, “about those winches . . .”

“Uh, yes, um—” To David, he said, “We’re doing our best, David, I promise you.” Turning his back to the boy, he followed the lieutenant. “Okay, Lieutenant Bryce, let’s have a look.”

David trailed after him.

“David,” Linda said, following, “will you stay in one place!”

At the edge of the sand pit, David and Linda watched as Lieutenant Bryce waved four Jeeps into position with winches and thick, heavy cables. Captain Rinaldi walked along the perimeter of the sand pit shouting orders.

David spotted several of the men standing on the sand cutting away brush at the edge to clear a field of fire. He pointed at them and tugged on Linda’s arm. “Look! They’re on the sand!”

Rinaldi saw them, too, and broke into a run. “Hey! Get outta there!” Flailing his arms, he herded them off the sand, stepping for just a moment—a very brief moment—off the embankment and into the pit.

It happened in a heartbeat. The sand spun beneath him, twirling him around like a nightmarish music-box dancer. Before he could make a sound, he was gone.

“General!” David screamed, running toward him. He pointed toward the sand pit.

“Rinaldi!” the general shouted, his jaw slack. “Holy Christ! Get away from there!” he ordered the other men around the pit. He turned to the lieutenant. “Get those damned winches ready!” Standing next to him, David heard the general mumble under his breath, “We’re gonna blow those bastards off the map.”

Curtis and his men had climbed down the hole, using the spiraled ridges as rungs. At the bottom, the hole intersected with a tunnel. With flashlight beams dancing on the curved walls, they proceeded cautiously. It was not terribly dark; light came from somewhere, but it was a strange light, a warm amber color.

Several yards ahead, the tunnel curved. Knowing that at any moment something could appear around the bend, Curtis pressed on slowly.

There was an instant of blinding light, there and gone in a flash, from beyond the curve.

“Hit the floor!” Curtis shouted.

The men dropped, their weapons ready.

Silence . . .

Then, approaching quickly from around the bend, footsteps . . .

Heavy and clumsy . . .

“Let’s see what we’ve got here,” Curtis whispered, aiming his pistol, readying himself for a fight.

Shadows appeared on the wall of the tunnel, enormous, hulking shadows bobbing over the ridges.

Curtis’s voice was hoarse when he muttered, “Son . . . of a . . .
bitch!”

There were three of them and they were huge; folds of lizardlike skin drooped over their fat faces and around their enormous jaws. They sloshed as they hobbled down the tunnel toward them, stopping when they spotted the men. One of the creatures grunted.

Dr. Weinstein jumped to his feet and raised a hand. “Hold your fire!” he shouted at the men.

“Get
down,
God damn it!” Curtis growled.

Weinstein turned to Curtis and said pleadingly, “We can’t just blow away an opportunity like this.
Look
at these things! We don’t know what they hell they are!”

“Exactly . . .”

One of the creatures held an oval-shaped pod in its pincered hand and raised it a few inches from its side as all three of them stepped back pensively.

“Wait,” Weinstein whispered, approaching them cautiously. He smiled. “Take it easy . . .” Reaching into his coat, he removed the charred remains of one of the copper needles that had come from the necks of Hollis and Johnson. “This is yours . . . right? It
is
yours, isn’t it?”

The creature holding the pod stepped forward.

Dr. Weinstein stiffened nervously but held his ground. “That’s it,” he said. “I am Dr. Weinstein. Yes . . .” He beckoned the creature forward. “Come on . . .”

It took another step, its nostrils flaring as it sniffed wetly at the doctor’s hand. It looked into Weinstein’s eyes, blinking several times, a curious expression wrinkling its huge brow.

“I’m a scientist,” the doctor went on. “I’m from the Search . . . for Extraterrestrial . . . Intelligence. Do you understand me? I won’t hurt you. We just want to . . .
understand
you.”

With a moist, tearing sound, a seam split in the pod and it opened like an eye.

Weinstein froze, staring at it curiously.

A sliver-thin beam shot from the pod and the young doctor screamed in agony—a shrill, ragged scream that sounded as if it might tear out his throat—then burst into flames. In an instant, he was gone, leaving behind a few wisps of smoke.

Before Curtis could give the order, the men opened fire, blowing large chunks of the creatures onto the walls of the tunnel. Arms were torn from the beasts, fat eyes popped, long, glistening fangs chipped and shattered, and gaping wounds gushed a thick green fluid over the ground. The troops continued firing and the creatures sprayed through the tunnel like confetti.

When the echoes of the gunfire died down, Curtis stood and grimaced at the oozing remains scattered about them. Taking a deep, steadying breath, he waved for the men to follow him deeper into the long, twisting tunnel.

David felt as if he might explode. They were going to blow up the sand pit. They were trying to destroy the ship! He saw them preparing bricks of explosives and winches to pull the men to safety if the vortex should open up again. His breathing was fast; he was beginning to feel dizzy and panicky.

What if Mom and Dad are down there?
a voice in his head screamed.

Linda put an arm around him, as if sensing his fear, and said, “They’re doing all they can, David.”

The general was giving more orders. Men were scurrying everywhere like ants. Engines rumbled and exhaust fumes dirtied the air. They were going to kill the martians . . . and perhaps kill his parents with them.

David broke away from Linda and dashed for the sand pit, his heart in his throat.

“David,
nooo!”
Linda screamed.

“Hey, kid!” one of the Marines shouted. “Come back here! You
crazy?”

“David, please!”

He looked over his shoulder and saw Linda following him. He wanted her to stay—he wanted to do this alone!

“I have to find my mom and dad!” he called to her, hoping she’d stay. But she kept coming.

“Come back here
now!”
she snapped angrily.

“Hey, lady!” another Marine barked.

Others began shouting, telling them to turn back, to stay away from the sand.

David dove off the embankment, landed on his feet, then fell flat on his face. He scrambled up again and began running to the center of the pit.

“David, please
stop!”
Linda pleaded, closer now.

He glanced back to see her running over the sand beside him, gaining rapidly.

Linda threw herself on him and they both tumbled to the sand. She grabbed his arm and jerked him to his feet. He could hear her gasping with fright as she began dragging him back to the embankment.

They were only a few feet from the edge of the pit when the sand beneath them began to collapse, then swirl, pulling them down. David heard more shouts from the men and from General Wilson. He heard Linda scream as they were pulled into the pit.

In a moment, he heard nothing at all . . .

C H A P T E R
Twelve

T
he men around the pit froze and stared silently at the motionless sand. Several of them turned toward General Wilson.

“Sir,” Lieutenant Bryce said breathlessly, running to the general’s side, “we tried to stop them.”

“Damn!” General Wilson growled through clenched teeth. Frowning at the men around him, he shouted, “What the hell are you waiting for? Set those charges!”

“But sir, the boy and woman—”

General Wilson interrupted the lieutenant harshly, “We’re just going to have to take that risk! There’s no other way.”

He walked away from Lieutenant Bryce and circled the pit. Three of the men were putting on safety harnesses while other troops hooked the harnesses to the winches.

Problems within problems,
the general thought, his head pounding with frustration. He understood the boy’s concern for his parents, his desperation to find them, but David didn’t seem to realize that they may be as good as dead already, that whatever the martians had done to them might be irreversible. Now the boy had only made things more complicated for him and his men.

General Wilson watched as the men walked to the center of the pit attached to the winches like puppets. They delicately set down brick after brick of explosives.

A tense silence settled around the pit as the men along the perimeter watched . . .

The general started back around the pit toward Lieutenant Bryce, never taking his eyes from the men on the sand.

Moving gingerly, they set the last of the charges and turned, heading for the embankment. The still space of sand between them and the perimeter began to churn. They all lurched backward and began scrambling over the sand as the vortex opened up and began spinning toward them.

General Wilson saw with alarm that the cables were about to tangle above the heads of the three scattering men.

“Start the winches!” the general shouted, hurrying along the edge of the pit.

The winches cranked into action, pulling the demolition men off the sand, their feet dangling as the vortex swept violently beneath them. They were reeled in from the sand pit like fish from a lake.

But General Wilson was not entirely relieved. The churning vortex continued swirling across the pit toward the explosives.

“Everybody back!”
he called, waving an arm.

The troops scattered for safety as the hissing whirlpool of sand swallowed the explosives, then smoothed over and disappeared.

After a brief, still moment, a column of sand rose from the pit toward the sky with an explosion so loud and powerful that General Wilson, huddling behind one of the assault vehicles, felt it rattle his eyeballs in their sockets. An instant later, a dry, gritty rainstorm of sand and tiny pebbles showered over them.